Pumping vein

On my way out I realize I am several meters ahead of her. In my head I am running away from there…

The vein is pumping over my right eye.

It is one of the post traumatic stress symptoms I still get sometimes.

If I leave it be it will take a hold of a forth of the scull and keep it in and iron grip – something along the lines of migraine.

But it doesn’t get that final grip today.

Today I am stopping half way and take care of myself.

I had to revisit something old and something traumatic. Something I tried to pretend was “really nothing”.

I have a few of those.

My daughter comes with me, so I am not alone. It feels better.

Just the building creates a reaction in me. Without even speaking or interacting with anyone.

On my way out I realize I am several meters ahead of her. In my head I am running away from there.

I stop and wait for her.

The world is safe and we can walk out in normal speed.

On our way home the pain in the eye starts. Like a mail in the post.

I do my normal shores and put on some tea. Put some sugar in it. Anything that I know will calm me a little. That feels familiar. Safe.

I go over my day in my head. Did everything go perfect? No. Did I miss anything? Yes a few things. Did I achieve the most important stuff? Yes I did. Did I do my best? Did I move anything forward at all? Yes I did – so it is OK.

Between me and myself maybe tomorrow I can improve just a little bit.

I am coming home. Slowly. 313 signals to go.

Image courtesy to Hyena reality at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Kind conversations

Why do we expect that because we written something to someone – that they should be ready to respond instantly – and exactly the way we want to? Why is it so hard to let things be and allow some mystery?

I have for periods in my life really focused on changing my language, but it never seems to be really perfect or it can always improve…

Lately I have pondered on the lack of kindness  and gentleness in both the language towards ourselves as well as in the formal communication.

Why do we expect that because we written something to someone – that they should be ready to respond instantly – and exactly the way we want to? Why is it so hard to let things be and allow some mystery?

Do I really have to know the logical answer to why for every single thing?

Universal laws are as logic as it gets right – so why this immense need of sense that we even make it up with our little home made stories to why this or why that?

Is it our ability to create or creative thinking that back fires?  It just kicks off itself regardless what it is about? Or we need to understand what is around us and when we have a story we feel safe? Safer?

I have always had an attraction to the Socrates way of thinking – that all answers are within – and it is all about the conversations we have – or don’t have…

Now I am asking myself how to be more kind and how to use questions as a bridge to heal those gaps of misunderstandings, confusion and possible hurt.

What questions do you use when dealing with opposite opinions or conflicts?

And how do you untangle contradictive conversations with yourself?

Define.Define.Define. Is my new mantra to myself.

332 signals to go. Gently coming home.